I’ve had this poem in my study for ages, propped against books on the bookcase or at times tucked between my taller books. It was printed as a broadside back in the ‘70’s. Now, we brought it to our father’s memorial. He has a lot of other work out in the world, but this one speaks to his love of his kids and the loss of his father, and it’s beautiful.
He made it to 88. That’s about fifty years older than his father was, when his father passed away.
I’m grateful he was a writer, and so we have his words and his work, his vision. I bet he’s glad he left this “souvenir.”
He writes:
If poetry has a purpose it is as souvenir,
offering, journal, and tonight I offer
this poem against the future, to tell you…
These days, I’m getting back to writing, along with so much else. Maybe you are, too?
I will be posting here more. Making plans! :) I appreciate you.
With love,
M
I like this poem a lot, and it was such a pleasure to hear Steve read it to the car club.
Oh, I love this poem. It really resonated with me. The breathing in the room, the passage of time through breath, the question we ask of photographs, what did he/she want?